


Elision

by Daebakinc



Category: Chanyeol - Fandom, EXO (Band), Kpop - Fandom, Park Chanyeol - Fandom
Genre: Dog Hybrid Park Chanyeol, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hybrids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 17:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15953759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daebakinc/pseuds/Daebakinc
Summary: You take in a down on his luck hybrid, never expecting him to burrow his way into your heart.





	Elision

The first time you see Chanyeol is in the pub down the street from your apartment on the kind of rainy night that softens the street lights from harsh orange to quiet yellow.

The Foxy Lady itself is one of those magical places where you always feel at home no matter what part of the world you came from. The kind of place that beckons to you like an old friend to come and sit and rest awhile, to let the world fly by this small corner of comfort. Inside the classic brick exterior, the space is one long, wide room with walls painted an antique green that hit just the right balance of bright and comforting, and old oak bar and chairs and tables, their surfaces worn to gleaming gold and soft with long and faithful service. A small stage sits in the corner farthest to the door, ready for the any of the city’s musicians willing to accept payment in steady drinks, rich food, and good company. The kitchen, hidden by a wall behind the bar, emits delicious aromas incessantly, sending smells as tempting as a siren’s call onto the street each time the door opens.

Or perhaps it isn’t the building itself that creates such an ambience. It very well could be the bar’s owners, the inseparable husband and wife duo Jongdae and Sol. Between the two of them and their matching brilliant, teasing personalities, the sun never sets on The Foxy Lady. For reasons unknown, they’d personally taken you under their wing the night after you wandered in, forced out of your new grocery-scarce new apartment by the search for food. As you soon found out, any and all who walked through the door were treated with affable welcome by the stunning husband and wife. Everyone was a friend to Sol and Jongdae.

No one knows Sol’s real name because Jongdae doesn’t call her by anything else but the nickname he gave her, but one smile from her and you’ll forget you even had a question. But that smile always turned a thousand times brighter when she looked at her husband, and Jongdae’s return smile was no less adoring. If the two of them had lived hundreds of years ago, there would still be ballads and poems about the love they share. On your bad days, you’ll admit you’re a little jealous of that kind of bond, having never experienced anything close.

“Hello, gorgeous.” The smile Jongdae sends you when you slide onto one of the unoccupied barstools could win the heart of a stone. “How’s your day been?”  
He doesn’t bother asking for your order, already scribbling it on a tab and adding it to the kitchen’s stack before reaching for a glass and filling it with your favorite, an elderflower Italian soda with a crazy straw.

You send him a grateful smile and take a long slurp from the straw as soon as he sets it in front of you. “Semi-productive. Got all my cleaning done for showing off the apartment to potential roommates next week, but then I lapsed and ended up binge watching half the season of The Flash for the rest of the day. That’s why I’m here. I didn’t realize the time and when I did, I decided I was too lazy to cook for myself.”

“You’re anything but lazy. You deserve a break.” Your friend laughs as he bustles about, transferring plates from the kitchen at each ding to a patron or to the server’s station for Jongin or Baekhyun to pick up. “Any promising leads for roommates?”

“No one stellar.” You shrug and sneak a mint leaf from behind the bar to pop in your mouth. “But I only put up the ad last week. Hopefully someone shows up, though Joy will be hard to replace.”

“We’ll find you a roomie just as good. Maybe Sol knows someone.” Jongdae looks over your shoulder as the bells above the door tinkle happily. His smile widens as he raises his hand to wave. “Hey! Glad to see you made it!”

Curious, you shift in your seat to look as well. When you do, you’re suddenly very glad you already swallowed your drink.

The stranger is one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen. Or do you mean cutest? At the moment, you can’t exactly tell. Even in a long tweed overcoat, his body seems to go on forever and the way the light is lets you see the shadows of solid muscles beneath his black turtleneck. His face is handsome as well, but his tentative smile, the smile of a child hoping he’ll be welcomed in a new classroom, softens your heart in the same way the sight of a puppy would.

“Hi, Jongdae,” he says, the baritone of his voice like a shot of dark chocolate to your veins. He shifts a guitar bag from one hand to the other with the care of a mother readjusting an infant. You can tell the bag is old, its once black color faded to a grey-green. “Am I on time?”

“You’re an hour early, Chanyeol.” Jongdae wipes his hands and rushes around the bar to engulf the other man in a hug.

You have to stifle a giggle when Chanyeol bends, so he can put his arms under Jongdae’s even though he is significantly taller. It makes him look even more childlike, the wide brim of his hat brushing Jongdae’s cheek.

Jongdae pulls away but keeps a hand on Chanyeol’s back as he brings him further into the room. “Would you like to eat first? We’ve still got awhile before the dinner rush.”

“I’d like to set up and I guess if there’s time, I wouldn’t mind something.”

“Alright. Don’t forget, you don’t have to play the whole night. You can take breaks when you’re hungry or thirsty, okay?” Jongdae’s voice fades into the white noise of other patrons’ chatter as he walks away with Chanyeol, his luxuriant fox tail draped over one arm to keep it out of the way, tapered ears flicking this way and that in merriment.

Your eyes slide away from Jongdae to Baekhyun and Jongin. Jongin’s round, soft umber-colored bear ears twitch slightly as he chats with one of the regulars, while Baekhyun’s ears are floppy like a beagle’s, his tail also cheerily swishing away. Hidden in the kitchen, Kyungsoo probably has his thick wolf’s tail neatly covered and ears tucked under a hat to keep his fur out of the food. Various patrons display the hybrid traits of animal ears and tails out in the open as well. The Foxy Lady is one of the few places you know several feel free enough to do so without fear.

When people started modifying their bodies with animal genes, people thought it was odd but accepted it with eye rolls and quick skitters across the street, labeling it a trend that would fade out. Then these people became parents and passed on the same physical traits to their children. For whatever reason, this was an entirely different matter in the eyes of many. The eye aversions became mutterings, and in the worst cases, the mutterings became violence. 

Finally, humane and moral minds won out, leading to the ratification of anti-discrimination laws to protect and guarantee equality for hybrids. The passage of time has brought more societal acceptance of hybrids, but some hybrids still have issues finding jobs and housing, let alone decent treatment in certain pockets of the country, and unfortunately, in your city as well. You’ve seen Sol kick out a number of people for snide comments about Jongdae and the others. They got off lucky though; you’d heard a few of their remarks and they warranted a good bloodied nose in your opinion.

A plate of steaming home fries, buttered asparagus, and sage-rubbed chicken slides beneath your nose. Wearing a yellow T-shirt that makes her dark skin glow even more than usual, Sol winks at you as she pokes your forehead. “You look like you’re thinking about something unpleasant. Need to spill?”

You shake your head and smile reassuringly. “Nah, it’s nothing.”

“Well if it is, nothing a little bit of Kyungsoo’s cooking can’t fix, so dig in.”

“Who’s Chanyeol?” you ask, biting a stalk of asparagus in half and nodding your head in the direction of the stage. “I’ve never seen him before.”

Even when Sol frowns, she’s beautiful. “Jongdae found him a couple days ago playing on a street corner. Poor thing just came to the city a few weeks ago and still hasn’t found a job. Jongdae convinced him to come here to at least get a good meal in him. The man’s too skinny.”

Jongdae returns in time to hear the last part of Sol’s comment and grins, pecking her cheek as he scoots past her. “Not all of us can be as thick as your man, you know. Give me a week with him and I’ll have him looking like Pooh.”

“You leave that to me. What should I fix for him?”

“He said nothing yet, just wants some hot water with lemon and honey. I think he’s one of those ‘wants to earn his keep’ types.”

Sol snorts and heads towards the kitchen. “He’ll get it, but he’s got another thing coming if he thinks he’s going to play hungry under my roof.”

 

When closing time rolls around, you’re still sitting in the same place, nursing your fifth soda. You really had intended to get back to your apartment after you ate to continue cleaning. You really had. But you hadn’t counted on Chanyeol. Jongdae is a generous man, but he wouldn’t have let Chanyeol play if he wasn’t good. The problem for you was Chanyeol wasn’t just good. He was pretty fantastic.

His deep voice became sinful liquid cocoa as it poured from his mouth through the microphone and into the room. Pair it with the rich honey tones of his guitar he plucked with the ease of hundreds if not thousands of hours of practice, and you were as hooked as a magpie who spotted something shiny.

Some of the songs he played you knew, but some you didn’t. Given the emotion in his voice, the way he closed his eyes when he sang them, you’d bet good money they were songs he wrote himself. And he played everything, taking shouted requests from patrons, tickling the guitar strings to play American rock one moment and Spanish lullabies the next. A few times you felt your mouth hanging open as you stared. You’d shut it just as quick, but hard as you tried, you just got lost in the music and it’d happen again.

The light flick of a wet rag on your arm snaps you out of it. Baekhyun snickers and uses the rag to wipe at a spot on the bar. “Alright, kid. We love you, but time’s up. Last call was thirty minutes ago. Some of us got places to go, people to see.”

“If by places to go, you mean your bed, yeah, you’re right,” you tease.

“Hey, my bed and I are in a very intimate and adoring relationship,” he retorts. “Don’t be disrespectful.”

“My deepest apologies.” You glance around.

You’re the last patron still sitting, the other stragglers pushing through the door into the misting night. Chanyeol is still on the stage, packing away his guitar, head slightly twisted as he speaks with Jongdae. You wonder what they’re talking about and if the tall, talented man will become a regular fixture at the pub. It’d be really nice if he did, you think. For a variety of reasons.

“Yo, Y/N, you’re not drunk or something are you?” Baekhyun asks, looking concerned at your spacing out. “Jongin and I can give you a lift home.”

“Sorry, just thinking.” You pat his hand. “I’m totally sober unless you count sleepiness as a form of intoxication.”

“With some of the places I’ve found Jongin sleeping when he hasn’t had a drop, I might.”

After a few more minutes of banter and catching up with Baekhyun and Sol, you finally slip off your stool and head towards the door. You notice with a small bit of disappointment Chanyeol is already gone. You’d wanted to compliment him on his performance, but you’ll have to wait until next time, you suppose. Hopefully there’s a next time.

When you step outside the door, you find that in the time you spent talking, the mist outside had escalated into heavy-drop rain. Not a torrential downpour, but enough to have you looking like a drowned rat by the time you get home.

With a sigh, you walk to the edge of The Foxy Lady’s canopy and tug up your hood, tying the strings together. Mentally mapping the neighborhood, you figure if you keep to overhangs and sprint between the breaks, you can reach your apartment with minimal soaking.

You arrive at the street corner with only a few scatterings of rain on your shoulders and head. Your shoes, however, emit sloshing, squishing noises with each step after an unfortunately placed puddle. Looking across the street, your apartment door within view in all its tempting dry socks glory, you brace yourself for the final sprint.

A sniffle alerts you that you’re not the only person taking shelter in front of the department store. You cautiously glance to your side. A tall figure huddles against the concrete wall, the wet canvas of the overhang touching the top of his hat and drops of water dripping off the brim onto his shoulders. A stuffed brown paper bag with The Foxy Lady’s logo sits beside a beat-up looking bookbag and an old guitar bag. Even in the shadows, you recognize him.

“Chanyeol?”

The man jumps like you prodded him with a sharp stick, nearly collapsing.

“Hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” you quickly apologize, throwing your hands up, palms out.

“Do I know you?” Chanyeol asks. He inches towards the bags as if afraid you’ll snatch them.

“No. I’m sorry, I’m Y/N. I was at Jongdae’s earlier and I overheard your name. Bad eavesdropping habit. I listened to you play the whole night. You’re really good,” you offer with a tentative smile in case your apology wasn’t enough.

“Oh. Thanks.” He smiles a little, sending a little flutter through your chest. “You’re a friend of Jongdae’s?”

“Him and Sol.” You don’t comment on the once over you notice him give you. “They were my first friends here. Are you waiting for a ride? You can wait in my apartment if you like so you’re out of the wet; it’s just over there.”

Maybe you’re a little crazy offering to let a strange man into your apartment, but Chanyeol looks like a lost puppy and only a heartless person would leave a lost dog in the rain.

“Um, I’m actually just trying to figure out where to go.”

“Like directions?”

“No. I- I, um,” Chanyeol ducks his head and mumbles, “I don’t actually have a place yet. Haven’t found one I can afford, you know. There’s a shelter over on 7th I could go to, but things didn’t go so well last time…”

“The shelter’s that bad?”

“Sometimes.” His tone doesn’t encourage questions about his experience with them.

“Why not call Jongdae?” you ask, knowing he and Sol would let Chanyeol crash on their couch without a second thought.

Chanyeol shakes his head. “I wouldn’t want to get in their way and Jongdae already lined up a few gigs for me so I have a some money. I can’t ask him for more than that.”

His eyes move away from you to gaze out on the street. You recognize the defeated slump in his shoulders and the downward set of his mouth. It’s the look of someone who’s talking themselves into going through a repulsive experience because there is no other choice. You’ve made that kind of decision before.

Before you realize it, you make another choice. “Why don’t you stay with me while you get on your feet?”

Chanyeol’s eyes shoot back to you, so comically wide they remind you of Kyungsoo’s. “What?”

“My roommate had to move back home unexpectedly, so I’ve got a free room and rent paid for the next two months, so it can be yours if you want it.”

“Really? You really mean it?”

“Yeah. I have an extra room, you don’t have a room at all. Jongdae trusts you, so I figure you’re a good guy. Not like you’re going to attack me in the middle of the night or something, right?”

“No. I’ve never hurt anyone intentionally,” he says in a rush.

“I wouldn’t think so,” you laugh.

“But you’d really do that for me? A complete stranger?” he asks as if giving you a chance to take your offer back but hoping you won’t.

Your smile fades a bit, unpleasant memories lurk towards the surface of your mind. “I promised myself once that if I ever met someone as down on their luck as I was at the time and I was in a better position, I’d do what I could to help them.”

Chanyeol picks at a lose string on his sleeve as he thinks your proposal over. You wait, shuffling your feet so they don’t get cold.

“You should know something about me first,” Chanyeol says softly. Avoiding your eyes, he slowly reaches up and takes the brim of his hat between his fingers. After a second’s hesitation, he takes it off.

Two bright wheat gold colored ears perch on the top of his head, pressed against his hair in anticipation of being rejected. If Chanyeol expected you to be surprised, he’d only be half right. You’d had your suspicions given Jongdae’s special attention and how he never took off his coat in the pub despite the heat that came with a room full of warm bodies.

“They’re very pretty,” you say.

Chanyeol lifts his eyes, his fingers stilling from crumpling his hat. You can read the shock there and want to hunt down whoever put that fear and expectation in his head. You also want to hug Chanyeol, to take away some of that hurt, but you’re afraid that may be too much for the poor man just yet.

When he doesn’t move, you walk over and shoulder his bookbag. The lightness of it makes you feel worse for him, but you mask it quickly. You hate being pitied.  
Instead, you tell him, “Grab your other stuff and we’ll make a run for it, okay? It’s the brown door, right beside the lamppost.”

Clearly in a daze, Chanyeol picks up his guitar and bag of food, and runs after you across the street, up the stairs to your apartment, and into your life.

=======================================================================================================

The first time you kiss Chanyeol is on your couch on a warm spring Sunday afternoon made for new beginnings.

All is quiet when you return from the grocery store, the only sounds drifting inside from the open living room window. Birds chirp as they industriously build a nest on the outcrop of the building roof, cars hum and chortle as they pass below. Spices from the Lebanese restaurant down the street and sugar from Kyungsoo’s Sunday pies at The Foxy Lady mix with the half-pot of coffee you made earlier.

The grocery bags crinkle loudly on your arm as you step around the pile of shoes in the entryway. Your flats and boots are tumbled mess with Chanyeol’s sneakers and loafers in a cozy, domestic scene that makes you smile.

That night you let Chanyeol sleep on your couch, you hadn’t expected he’d stay long. Every day he went out looking for work, only to return empty handed. But he never showed his disappointment, shrugging it off with an addictively wide smile and promising to try again the next day so he could start supporting himself. Chanyeol insisted on earning his keep by fixing things around the apartment and occasionally cooking despite your protests that he didn’t need to do anything.  
A week turned into a month, a month into two, two months into just over half a year. After Chanyeol found a job at a music store run by Jihoon, a lemur hybrid, it made sense for him to just stay. Your apartment was already home.

You like having Chanyeol around. He always makes you smile. Every day you come home, he greets you with perked ears and feathery tail wagging. He listens to you talk about your day, sportingly joining in your complaining even though he has no idea what you were talking about or celebrating with you on a raise or just a plain old good day. Then there’s the music.

There was always music in the apartment with Chanyeol. Every day is an auditory adventure. He has some favorite songs you’ve learned to love too, but otherwise there’s always something different playing. Classic rock, house electronic, acoustic ballads, bubblegum pop. You name the genre, Chanyeol plays it. Your favorite days are the ones the music is Chanyeol’s own.

You’ll bundle yourself into a blanket burrito and sit on his bed to listen to the new songs he composes and records on an old computer. If you are really lucky, Chanyeol plays the songs for you himself on one of his guitars. You’d bought him a new one for his birthday, and he collected broken guitars to fix from work. There’s at least one in every room, even the bathroom for some reason.

By the time you put the groceries down, Chanyeol is still nowhere in sight, but bits of him are spread throughout the apartment.

The Ironman cookie jar you bought for him at the same secondhand store he bought his bed and desk. The black hoodie haphazardly laying across the back of the couch because although it’s his, you wear it just as often. The cheap neon yellow picture frame he won at a carnival last summer, a picture of the two of you from that same night inside, both wearing matching grins and arms around each other.

Your eyes slide to Chanyeol’s still closed door. It’s not abnormal for him to sleep late on a weekend off, but after last night, you’re worried.

It began innocently enough. Dinner out at The Foxy Lady because it was board night, an hours long board-game competition Sol held at the end of every month. You lost horribly to Chanyeol at Sorry in round three, but you had your revenge when Baekhyun beat him at one of the most intense Bananagrams games you’ve ever seen, spectators loudly cheering for their chosen side until they were drowned out by Chanyeol’s agonized losing howl and Baekhyun’s ecstatic victory yips.

Chanyeol was still sulking when you left, fluffy tail dragging on the ground. “I still say ‘quartzy’ can’t be a real word,” he muttered as he held the door open for you.  
“Jongdae found it in the dictionary, Chanyeol,” you reminded him gently.

Your friend snorted before looking at you intently. “You’re going to help me practice for next month, right? Like every day. Next time, I’ll be the champion.”

“We’ll see.”

“Come on, Y/N,” he whined. He threw an arm around your shoulders and hugged you to his side. “Please? Pretty pretty please with a strawberry on top?”

You cursed your heart for still beating faster and your nose for wanting to bury itself in his chest. You buried your feelings for Chanyeol a long time ago when your friendship became one you couldn’t live without. But you’re only human and they sometimes pop through. You suspected deep down that they were the reason your dates rarely got a second chance.

“Isn’t it supposed to be a cherry?” you asked wryly.

“But you don’t like cherries. You like strawberries,” he replied, grinning down at you.

“Fine, I’ll help. Can you just slow down a bit? I feel like I’m being decapitated.”

“Oh, sorry.” 

Chanyeol shortened his stride to match yours, but kept his arm in place, his hand curled around your arm in easy familiarity. The gesture was almost brotherly in nature and while it wasn’t exactly what you truly wanted, you love physical contact as much as the hybrid beside you.

As you walked past a group of men standing at the street corner and smoking cigarettes, an anonymous voice not so quietly sneered, “Freak.”

The rhythm of Chanyeol’s wagging tail skipped a beat and you felt his body stiffen beside you.

Your temper flared. It had taken a long time for you and the others at The Foxy Lady to help convince Chanyeol being a hybrid was nothing to be ashamed of with as many setbacks as leaps forward. You weren’t about to take some random asshole thinking he was being funny and better by insulting your friend.

You slipped out from Chanyeol’s arm, ignoring his soft murmur of your name to march back to the group of men. “Which one of you said that?”

“What’s it to you, sweetheart?” one of them asked. He sent you a smile you supposed he thought was charming. “Why don’t you lose the mutant and come home with me?”

“The only freak here is you, jackoff,” you hissed. You stepped close enough that discomfort flashed across his face. “You think you’re a big badass man calling another human a derogatory name? Newsflash, you’re not!” 

You pointed at Chanyeol who still stood frozen where you left him. “That man is better than you’ll ever be in every single way. Every way, you hear me? All you’re doing by insulting him is proving you’re the subhuman piece of trash who thinks just because someone’s different, that makes them unworthy of common decency and respect. Go home and pick up a damn book so your brain might grow enough to be a human’s.”

For good measure, you plucked the cigarette from his hand and stomped it into the cement before tramping back to Chanyeol. 

“Hey, bitch!”

Heavy footsteps came behind you, a hand roughly grabbing your shoulder to spin you around. A raised hand caught the streetlight. Heart stopping, you screwed your eyes shut and brace yourself.

The expected smack never came, a strangled cry sounding instead.

You opened your eyes to Chanyeol’s back. His tail stuck straight out, stiff and unmoving. Peeking around him, you saw your would-be assailant on his knees with Chanyeol’s hand clenched around his wrist.

“Touch her,” Chanyeol growled, the veins in his arm straining against as he tightened his grip, “and you won't have an arm, let alone a hand.”

Chanyeol waited until the man gave a weak nod, then tossed him aside. He turned away, pausing when his eyes met yours.

An anger hotter than you thought your friend capable of was fading to embers, replaced but another emotion you could not place. When he didn’t move, you grabbed his hand and towed him along behind you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Chanyeol whispered when you got to the apartment door.

You took a deep breath, so your voice and face were calm when you turned around. Meeting his eyes, you said, “Yes, Chanyeol. I did.”

You hadn’t spoken really after that, both going to your own rooms to mull over your own thoughts. You don’t regret standing up for Chanyeol, but you’re worried you made him uncomfortable.

Tiptoeing to his door, you press your ear against it. There’s not a sound except the soft piano Chanyeol plays to help him sleep. You open the door wide enough to slip inside.

The only thing you can see of Chanyeol is the top of his head, dark hair contrasting with his white blanket and pillow. Carefully, you ease yourself down on the bed beside him and drag the covers away from his face. His Rilakkuma doll is still tucked safely in his arms, squished against his cheek.

Affection rises in your chest, tickling your mouth into a smile. “Chanyeol,” you murmur, reaching out to card his mussed hair.

He grumbles something under his breath but doesn’t open his eyes.

Your fingers continue combing his hair, working their way up to one of his ears. You rub the silky fur between your fingers. The gesture is as much for your pleasure as his. A moan rumbles from deep within Chanyeol’s chest and he leans his head into your touch.

His gaze is blurry with sleep when he opens his eyes, but they quickly focus on your face. He smiles. “Morning,” he mumbles, voice deeper than normal with sleep.

“Try afternoon,” you chuckle. You can’t bring yourself to reclaim your fingers as Chanyeol props himself and continue to ruffle his hair and ears. “I got everything to make your favorite for lunch if you’re hungry. Tonkatsu.”

His smile immediately grows. “You’re the best, Y/N. I’ll help.”

When he grabs the blankets to toss them back and get up, you put a hand on his chest. “No, it’s alright. I’ve got it. You can go back to sleep if you want. I’ll get you when it’s ready. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Alright? Why wouldn’t I-” His confused expression falls into a frown. “Oh.”

“The guy was being a dick to compensate for his not having a satisfactory one, you know. You are not a freak.”

“I know.”

“Good. I’d do it all again, Chanyeol, and I meant every word. You are incredibly important to me.” 

You gaze into his eyes, trying to make sure he knows how sincere you are. The plan backfires. You’re suddenly far too aware of him. The depth of his chocolate eyes with golden flecks reflecting the sunlight. The smell of his cologne saturating the blankets, the room. The heavy beat of his heart beneath your hand on the firm muscle of his chest.

Snatching your hand and mind back, you smile and hope Chanyeol didn’t notice the growing charge. “I’ll get you when it’s ready, okay? Go back to sleep.”

Because you need to prove to yourself you’re in control, you lean down to kiss his forehead just as he shifts his body upward, saying “It’s okay, I’ll help.”

Your lips hit his lips instead of his skin. The contact lasts a second, but it leaves both of you frozen, staring at each other.

You scramble for an apology, the power to laugh it off, anything but the silence.

Chanyeol’s eyes flick from yours to your mouth. You have no other warning before his hand shoots up to cup your jaw and drag your lips back to his.  
Chanyeol is kissing you. Chanyeol is kissing you. That’s all you manage to think before your body takes over. It sinks against him, seeking his scent, his taste. A high whimper of desire fills your throat as his mouth moves against yours, soft but starved. Kissing him is all you imagined but better. So much better.

With a gasp, Chanyeol pulls away, his hand staying in place, hot against your skin. His chest presses against yours with each pant. “I- I’m- uh…” he blinks several times. “I..”

You surge forward, kissing him again, and draw back just enough so your noses brush. With your eyes closed, you whisper, “You better not be about to say, ‘I’m sorry.’”

“Okay,” you feel him wet his lips, “I was going to say… I’m, um, surprised?”

“You’re surprised? You’re the one who kissed me on purpose first.”

“Oh, yeah.” Chanyeol laughs and falls back onto his pillow, a hand over his eyes. He peeks between his fingers. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.” You swing your legs up and lie down on your side next to him. “Is that something you’ve been wanting to do for a while?”

“Kinda.”

“Since when?”

“Since that night a few months ago when you fell asleep on me while we were watching El Dorado.”

You remember that night. A little. El Dorado was one of your favorite movies and Chanyeol was a quick convert. But it had been a long week, and one moment you were watching Chel seducing Tulio, and the next you rolling over in bed to sunlight peeking through the window. You thought you’d just walked yourself to your room in a stupor, but maybe not.

“I didn’t even notice you were asleep until your head hit my shoulder,” Chanyeol continues. He glances up at you, then away with a gentle smile. When he speaks, there are many little pauses, as if he’s lost in his own memory and has to savor it. “Then I looked down and… I don’t know. It was like I was seeing you for the first time. I couldn’t breathe. You were soft and perfect and beautiful. Your lips had this little pout, like you were upset at yourself for falling asleep during your favorite movie. All I wanted to do was kiss it away, but…. I didn’t. I just picked you up and tucked you into your bed.”

“And didn’t say anything after?”

“You’d just broken up with what’s-his-name, the freakishly tall one obsessed with Harry Potter. I’m not a jerk.”

“Seungjun. And he was the same height as you, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol shrugs it off.

“Would it freak you if I said I started liking you that first night at The Foxy Lady?” You chuckle at his dropped jaw and perked ears. You close his mouth with a finger. “You were super cute and talented; can you blame me?”

“Do you still think I’m super cute and talented?” he asks, glancing at you through his eyelashes with a teasing smile. He whines when you smack his shoulder.

“What do you think? I kissed you back, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.” Chanyeol laughs and flips onto his side as well. His eyes roam your face and his voice lowers. “Yeah, you did.”

“What?” you ask when the corner of his mouth twitches.

“I’m just now remembering something Sol said.”

“And what did Sol say?”

“She caught me watching you one night and you know her. She got everything out of me. When I told her I wasn’t going to say anything, she told me impossible things have a way of happening anyway. Guess she was right.”

“Sol’s always right,” you giggle. “I’m really glad this wasn’t her exception.”

“Me too. So… why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, at first it was because I didn’t want you thinking I was trying to take advantage of you or something and you were still getting your life together; you didn’t need a relationship to complicate that even more. Then, I just didn’t want to risk losing you.” It’s a relief to get it all out, like a flood finally released from a dam.

“I didn’t want to lose you either. You’re one of my best friends.” Chanyeol tentatively reaches out to outline your face with a finger. “Guess I’m lucky I’m in love with my best friend.”

“Lucky by Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat.”

He laughs and tugs you into his arms, rubbing his cheek against your hair. Your hands slide behind his back and curl up to his shoulders, your leg hooking around Chanyeol’s hip to bring him closer. His tail brushes your calf as it gleefully thumps against the mattress.

“You remembered,” he says.

“You only play it like every other day,” you retort.

“I do not.”

“Okay, maybe it’s one of my favorites to hear you play then.”

“I’ll play it every single day if you want.”

Laughing and shaking your head, you wiggle enough to tilt your head back and look at his face. “You could play anything and I’d love it.”

“Anything? Even ‘It’s a Small World’?” Chanyeol grins playfully and squeezes you. He starts singing, “It’s a small world after all, it’s-”

His voice goes immediately silent when you press your lips against his again. But you become as lost in the kiss as he is, the leisurely rhythm of it more addictive than any song you’ve heard. Pressed against his warmth, sinking into it. When you sluggishly pull away, his eyes are still closed, mouth slightly parted.

“Any song but that one,” you whisper lightly.

Chanyeol’s lips slowly curve in a smile and his eyes open at the same speed like a lazy dog waking up from a nap in the sunshine. His fingers tap a beat against your spine. “I think one’s coming to me right now. If I’d known kissing you would be conducive to my composing, I’d have done it a long time ago.”

“Then kiss me again.”

Chanyeol is humming when your lips meet again, some melody that’s new and exciting and somehow, it’s already your new favorite song.


End file.
